One day, Lawson put out the word. He and his wife, Betsy, were inviting the entire groups to their place on Lake Norman. We would gather on Thursday, play tennis on Friday and Saturday and come home on Sunday. Sounded like a winner. It was.

For 19 years, we played without cease. Then, everything was put on hold as Betsy fought off an illness.

This year, the Prostate Invitational was back in swing — not full swing, but swing.

The personnel chart showed a few modifications. Dan Moser and Bill Keith had died in the meantime. And Bill Seabrook’s name had been added to the list.

This time, 24 years later, the ball still had bounce, but not as high. And it took longer to change sides.

Back at the Lawson place, not much had changed. The players who arrived first got the hammocks.

This year, for the first time, a cool, new game made its appearance. Cornhole. Everyone loved the game but had to think twice before pronouncing its name.

(Times have changed, right? I remember the first time I used the word “prostate” in a column. Twenty-four years ago. A Gazette editor deleted it. Too raunchy.)

Cornhole is a game that has competitors trying to toss beanbags into small, six-inch holes about 30 feet away. Age seems to help. Tete Pearson and Phil Coyle went home with corn-cob prizes to be cherished forever.

I am telling you all of this second hand because it came to me second hand. A death in the family necessitated that I be elsewhere. I like food. Missed the makings of Gene Hunter and Charlton Torrence.

Coming forth from all directions, however, was the established fact that more people got lost than got found. That does not sound probable, but second-hand testimony often is more interesting than a calculator in adding things up.

Read what Tom Efird wrote in his thank-you note to Lawson:

“Having been lost four times trying to find the tennis courts and then get home, lost once on the way to Lancaster’s BarBQ, and lost again trying to find the Sunday lunch venue, I am pleased to tell you that Tete, Eugene and I made it home safe and sound.”

Page 2 of 2 - This is beginning to sound as if part of a circus paused at the Lawson place before the Prostaters got there. Not true. Conviviality was spread all over the place. Friday night dinner by Torrence and Saturday night’s by Hunter (I am told) were not just “good;” they were great.

The two pontoon boat rides deserve citations for clear-cut satisfaction, with the sun tipping its hat at the close of day to Lawson at the helm.

Bill Williams is a former editor of The Gazette and continues to write a weekly column.